Touched By Fire
by WildlingintheSheets
Summary: Picking up after Season 7, Episode 6. Multi-chapter story following Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane. Part of an intended multiverse that ties into other stories.


_**Greetings to the Realm!**_

 _ **Short note of context on this. This story will be part of a series called "Break the Wheel" that involves many pairings from Game of Thrones and each will include multiple chapters.**_

 _ **This story and all other of the series will take place directly after Season 7, Episode 6. Though there are a few book references. I chose to jump off from this point because frankly we're a lot closer to the end in the show than the books. So I did not want to rewrite the show or just pick up where the books left off.**_

 _ **There may be some similiarities to the season finale or a lot of changes, I don't know yet because this takes place before that and will continue from that point.**_

 _ **And with that, Winter has come and so has the Long Night and with that, smut, lots of smut.**_

 _ **** The misremembered kiss is featured in the book but not the show, but I brought it into this. In the books Sansa misremembers the night of Blackwater Bay and believes Sandor kissed her when he left her his white cloak to flee King's Landing.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I'm not GRRM and I don't get paid.**_

* * *

The Lady of Winterfell

* * *

The raven from Jon had arrived an hour ago, and it had shaken Sansa to her core. They were to leave the North. Her heart felt leaden in her chest. Winterfell had been her home all these years. She had fought hard to come home to it, but now she had to leave, and she did not know when or if she would be back.

" _Sansa,_

" _It is with a heavy heart that I ask this of you. Our father has long told us that there should always be a Stark in Winterfell, but now I'm asking you to leave it. We have been beyond the wall and have barely survived it. Daenerys Targaryen lost one of her dragons to save us. I have seen her worth Sansa, and I will not make the mistake of others. Like Torrhen Stark before us, I have bent the knee. I know that you will find no pride in kneeling nor will any of the lords of the North, but I have seen Daenerys Targaryen and measured her worth. She is a good person and she is a good Queen. I will not let my pride get our people killed. Remember what our father told us about survival. I am depending on you to unite the North and prepare for our departure. Every man, woman, and child must leave the North to join together to fight for the living. I have sent messages to all the houses of the North, but it's you I depend on to be my voice among the Northmen while I go to King's Landing to get the Lannisters to cease in their war against us. They must join us in the only war that matters. I send to you three good men to help you take the Northmen to White Harbor. Lord Manderly will have boats waiting to take all to Dragonstone._

 _Your brother, Jon Snow."_

Another raven arrived with a copy of the notes he'd sent the other houses. It was to the point, commanding everyone to leave the North and journey south before it was too late. She folded the letters and slipped them into the pocket of her dress before taking a deep breath.

She called everyone to meet.

Most of the leaders of the houses were already here, their smallfolk and families left behind at home. As they all came into the hall, she saw various stages of disbelief. The North had never been truly abandoned before.

She waited until everyone was seated before standing. Her eyes sought out Arya in the back of the room and their eyes met, holding for just a moment.

"My lords and ladies, I've called you together to read the letter which my brother and lord, King in the North Jon Snow, has sent." The Maester rose to read the letter, but she raised her hand for him to wait. "But first, I must take care of other duties." She paused before smiling. "My father, Lord Eddard Stark, believed that a man should reap the rewards of what he sows, and that the actions of a man reveal the true nature of that man. And today, I ask you, Lord Baelish, to come reap the harvest of what you have sewn for House Stark."

There was a low mumble through the hall, but Petyr Baelish made his way forward, his slow footfalls echoing through the hall. When he reached Sansa, he made a little bow. "My lady, I did not expect to be-"

"My lord, forgive me, but this is not about your expectations." He stood straighter at that and his eyes narrowed. "Lord Baelish roused the forces of the Eyrie to fight for us and help us retake Winterfell. Or should I say, he brought the forces of Robert Arryn, my cousin, to come to our aid. So what, then, did Lord Baelish do for House Stark?"

Her smile vanished as quickly as she had placed it. "He hired an assassin to kill my brother, Bran." Petyr shifted slightly away from her. "I did not say that you could leave, Lord Baelish." Her eyes were cold as she turned to him. "Then, he married and killed my aunt, Lysa Arryn. After that, he sold me to the Boltons and made me wed Ramsay Bolton, who raped me." Her voice rose in hatred, her eyes flashing as she looked to the people of the North to make sure they heard every word and held him accountable. The men in the hall started to rise from their benches. But they had not heard it all, so she let her voice carry. "Ramsay flayed men and women of the North while they still lived. Ramsey fed his own step-mother and babe of a brother, alive, to his dogs, which he starved into eating human flesh. Those same dogs he used to hunt me and Theon Greyjoy, a prince in his own right, after my escape. On the field of battle, Ramsay shot my brother Rickon down just as Jon reached him."

She let the words settle as the outraged buzz in the hall began to grow. "Lord Baelish, you took the North from us, and then tried to give it back as though it were a gift. You sowed seeds of distrust amongst my family. But we are Starks, and we are not so easily parted." She raised her chin. "These are the seeds he has planted, and now winter has come. So has the harvest. Seize him."

She had positioned the Mormont men beforehand, careful not to let the news slip past Lyanna Mormont and two of her trusted guards so Baelish wouldn't catch wind. Arya knew: they'd planned this together. "For the crimes which I lay before you, I find you guilty of murder and treason. As Lady of Winterfell, I sentence you to death."

Baelish fought against the guards, but Sansa knew that he understood this was over unless he could talk his way out of it. Even he was wise enough to see that any words he might say would only make it worse.

"My father believed the man who passed the sentence should swing the sword. Forgive me, my lords, for I am no man, and I have not learned the sword. It would be a... messy affair, but I'd be willing to practice on Lord Baelish, unless one of my bannermen would come forth to carry out the sentence?"

There was a loud din as more than ten men volunteered for the task, but that was when Sansa saw him, standing somber at the back of the room. He couldn't have been there long, watching with his group. Her eyes met his and held. It was as though he'd said the words aloud instead of in her head. _Hello, little bird._

She raised her hand to silence the hall and called out, "Sandor Clegane, come forward." He separated from Beric and Tormund and walked up the hall to stand before her.

"You once said to me in King's Landing, in the midst of all my enemies, that you would keep me safe and not let anyone harm me."

"Aye, I did." His voice held the same sandpaper tone she'd come to miss.

"You offered to take me home to Winterfell then, and I refused you like a fool. Now, my brother sends you here to help me deliver a message." Sansa turned back to the gathering. "The Long Night is not coming. It is here. There are enemies outside our gates. The dead will walk before long. The Wall has stood for thousands of years, but it will not stand much longer. We cannot fight enemies within and without." An attentive squire brought the block, placing it down in the hall, and Lord Baelish's hands were bound behind his back.

She summoned up the memory of her father, of the speech he had given each of them in some way, with little variation. When she'd read Jon's note, she had realized it then. _Jon is not the lone wolf, I am. I kept secrets from him, from Arya. I had been so long in the game that I forgot whose side I was on, that my own family was not against me. It almost cost me their lives._ "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. If we must hate, we will hate those who will truly do us harm and we will honor those who would help us. Petyr Baelish has done us great harm for his own benefit. Sandor Clegane offered me help when no one did. We reward those who are loyal to us."

Sandor seized Baelish from the Mormonts and pushed him to the block.

"Any last words, Lord Baelish?" Sansa asked.

"You've mistaken me, Lady Sansa-"

"Lying till the end. I thought you'd thought out every scenario, Lord Baelish. You should have seen this one coming." Sansa looked up at Sandor Clegane. "Swing the sword."

It was over in half a second. Petyr Baelish's head rolled at her feet. _You win or die when you play the game of thrones._ Thankfully, she'd learned from his mistakes. Things like loyalty, friendship, and family were stronger than political alliances, if you could actually trust them.

"The King in the North, Jon Snow, has bent the knee to Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons and called all of us - every man, woman and child - to come to Dragonstone so that we might unite for the only war that will matter. There is no use squabbling amongst ourselves like children. Our enemies are the dead, and they far outnumber us. We must do everything we can not to join them. Remember the tales your nursemaids told. Remember them, for they are more true and horrible than we'd like to believe. We will gather up our belongings and remain here no more than three weeks at the most. Every Northern family who plans to journey with us will meet us here. The rest will be given instructions to make their way to White Harbor on their own. This is not a request: this is a command. Those who remain behind will not be rescued if they change their minds. You decide here and now if you will fight with the living or if you will join the legion of the dead."

Sansa lifted her skirts to pass the head at her feet. "Take Lord Baelish's body outside of Winterfell. Burn it. All bodies from now onward are to be burned upon death. Start your packing now. Do not go back to your keeps and holds to summon your people. Summon them from here. We do not have time to tarry. War is coming, and no holdfast or hearth will keep anyone safe. Our only hope is to stay together, to trust each other, or none will survive the Long Night. Winter has come, and if we do not fight-it will stay forever."

The lords of the North bowed as Sansa swept out of the hall.

* * *

The fire burned low in Sansa's room, growing cold and guttering out. The chill woke her. Her breath was like mist in the air as she tried to stir the fire back to life, but there was not even an ember. Pulling on her cloak, she walked into the hall, led by some inkling she did not understand. It was so cold, her lungs were afire with every breath. The halls were empty at first, but when she turned to look again, a man stood before her.

He was dead. She knew that. She'd fed him to his dogs herself, but there he stood, at the end of the long hall, nothing left but his skeleton-except the face. His face was just the same as it had been in life, though his eyes glowed like two cold blue stars.

 _Ramsay._

She couldn't help herself. She knew it would only bring her more trouble, but she screamed anyway. But the hall was dark, and there was no one there to save her, just as always.

Something shook her. She tried to fight it, tried to scratch at the blue-eyed Ramsay that had her. _"Wake up, little bird, it's alright. No one can hurt you now."_

Her eyes flew open to find Sandor Clegane gripping her bare arms, shaking her awake. She could feel the hot tears in her eyes, but she tried to force them back. "I'm fine," Sansa said. "I'm alright." But his hands did not leave her arms and she was glad for it, glad for the warmth of the living. A nightmare about Ramsay was bad enough, made even worse by him as a wight.

Sandor was shirtless above her, clad only in laced up breeches. His chest was a mass of scars, a map of the life of violence that he'd led. He'd said once that he'd liked killing and that any man who said they didn't was lying. Sansa remembered the hot blood of Petyr Baelish pouring onto the floor, and she felt that, perhaps, she understood. She'd have liked to cut Baelish's throat herself.

Arya was at the door, calming the commotion in the hall. Beric and Tormund stood in the door a moment longer, asking Arya if Sansa was well. Arya shut the door firmly behind her. For the first time since the Red Keep, Sansa realized that she was alone with Sandor Clegane.

"You'd never let anyone hurt me," she murmured recalling the words he'd spoken. The thought of them soothed her.

"That's what I said, didn't I?" His eyes had something in them that she hadn't seen since the Red Keep: fear.

She broke her gaze away and saw that his sword was set against the wall. He had charged in, without armor, to defend her from whatever was happening. He had come to save her as no one else really had. _I'm no knight._ He had been the one to save her from the streets in King's Landing, to protect her when no one else cared. _I'm no knight._

The warmth of his hands left her arms, and she felt suddenly cold. Shifting, she moved to the side of the bed and let her feet touch the soft, warm fur on the floor. The room was warm, unlike in her dream, where it had seemed that Winterfell had never felt the heat of the springs. Sansa looked up to find Sandor staring down at her.

Her shift was hiked up to the top of her thigh, exposing the skin where Ramsay had burned her. She reached to cover it, then stopped as he spoke.

"Ramsay or the Imp?"

"Yes, Ramsay." The stillness of the room was overwhelming. "He did that and things much worse." Sandor's eyes didn't move from her leg, though, and she suddenly felt very warm. He didn't look at her with pity, but she saw a hot flash of anger in his eyes before he spoke.

"Good thing he's dead then. I'd have gutted him like a pig. No one deserves that kind of pain." His eyes darted away from her for a moment, but they were drawn back almost immediately to her thigh.

Her fingers twitched. "Tyrion never touched me." She didn't know why she felt the need to tell him, but the words just spilled out. "He offered and I refused him. He was kind, and he never asked again. He never touched me."

"But not Ramsay," Sandor said. She could hear the hate in his voice, feel it rolling off of him as he kept his eyes on her thigh. Sansa moved to reach for him just as he abruptly stood and strode across the room. Each step he took made her feel colder, less safe. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. She didn't even realize she was standing or speaking until she heard the words herself.

"You kissed me in the Red Keep, the night of Blackwater Bay."

Sandor stopped almost at the door. She saw the tenseness in his shoulders. "I did not."

Sansa's fingers touched her lips as she thought of the memory. "You were very drunk. You might not remember."

He half-turned toward her. "I said I fucking didn't."

Her face blanched and her hand fell away from her lips. Her traitor eyes stung as he looked over at her.

His voice was a little softer when he spoke again. "I'd remember that. Drunk or not."

Sansa's voice cracked a little. "You would?"

She had only a moment to see the look on his face before he strode across the room to her. His hands fastened on her waist as he leaned over her, his eyes searching her face almost hungrily. She turned her face up to meet his and closed the distance between them.

This kiss was not like any kiss she'd had before. Sandor's lips were firm and insistent, but not forceful. A spark of heat started somewhere deep within her, a fire that began slowly but spread rapidly. His tongue touched her lip, and she opened her mouth to his to let him in. Each stroke of his tongue sent new waves of heat coursing through her body. She had this strange feeling, as though she were chasing some blissful feeling that was just out of reach, but if she could catch it….Oh, if she could catch it.

Warmth spread to her limbs, and Sansa felt like summer had come again. Something deep in her belly tugged in a pleasant way as one of his hands drifted to settle between her shoulderblades. A warmth spread between her thighs, and it made her press herself harder to him. Sandor's other hand drifted down and cupped her bottom, drawing her closer to him. The thin material of her slip could not possibly hide the hardness of her nipples pressing against his bare chest. She knew he had to feel it against him and the thought made her grow warmer.

She pushed her tongue into his mouth, taking control of the kiss. Sansa heard the low moan in his throat, almost like a growl, as she threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body tighter to him so that there was no space between them.

She felt him move against her, hard against her stomach. Sansa no longer had to question his desire for her. Heat spread between her legs, and something made her ache deep inside in a way she never had before. At that moment, she knew that she wanted him in her, that he could fill that aching need within her that no one ever had. Sansa took his thick bottom lip between hers-

Her arms were empty, and Sandor stood across the room. Even from this distance, she could tell he was hard; the breeches did nothing to hide it. His face was turned slightly down so as not to look at her. Her voice was stern as she spoke to him.

"Stay."

"You don't know what you're saying little bird." Sandor's voice was husky. She could see the lust in his eyes as he glanced back to her. There was no doubt in her mind what he wanted from her, and she was willing to give it.

Sansa squared her shoulders. "I know exactly what I'm saying. I'm not a little bird anymore. I don't parrot the words I'm told to say. I'm a woman grown, and I know to ask for the things I want." Her mouth was dry, but she took a breath and pushed on. "I want you to stay." Her cheeks flamed hot.

"I'm not a fucking knight," Sandor said, half in warning, half in promise, but still across the room.

"I know." The moment the words left her mouth, he was halfway back to her. She raised her arms up to meet him as he gripped her hips and pulled him to her. His mouth was rough on hers, but she responded in kind. Sansa felt as though she were on fire, as if she were a living flame being shaped by his hands. She was not glass, and she would not break. She met his insistence with a determination of her own. For the first time in a situation like this, Sansa felt in control, as though she was an equal and not a toy to be played with.

He was hard against her stomach, pulsing and alive. She elicited a moan from him when her hips pressed against him. Sandor held her tight to him for a moment, breathless, shaking with the effort of control.

"Don't do that," he said in a half strangled voice. His chest heaved against hers and she felt her nipples rubbing against him, over the weals of his scars.

"You didn't like it?" Sansa asked a little weak.

His breath was hot on the side of her neck. "Fuck, Sansa, I like it too much."

She looked up at him questioningly. His voice was raw. His hands shook where they touched her. She knew that he was using every ounce of control in his body.

"I like it too," she said softly.

"Don't say that!" He half-grimaced and pushed her back so that their bodies weren't quite touching. His eyes were having a hard time staying off of her breasts, but he finally spoke. "I... You're young. I don't want to... defile... seduce…" He kept searching for another word but she cut him off.

"I'm not a maid. You won't defile me."

He looked exasperated at her. "You're a woman grown. You're tall and you're-" He made a gesture at her body. "But you're tiny. I could hurt you." His hand cupped her face, making her look at him.

"Would you be trying to hurt me?" she asked simply.

"No, I wouldn't be." He seemed exasperated now. "I'm a big man. I could hurt you without meaning to." She could see that he was trying to make her understand what he meant. He was afraid of breaking her.

Sansa pulled her body close to him. "You won't break me Sandor. Ramsay tried. He did terrible things to me." The word rape caught in her throat. "But you won't hurt me, I know that."

"Is that it then, little bird? You want me anyways? You're not afraid of me?" he asked as he pressed her body flush with his so that she could feel exactly what he meant by being bigger than her in many ways.

"I'm not afraid of you, Sandor." As soon as the words left her mouth, he had her body hugged tightly to him. His lips were on hers again, hungry and greedy. She moved her hips a little, and he groaned against her lips. His hands were large and hot as he pulled at the sides of her shift, bunching up fabric. He pulled it up to her thighs and slid his hands beneath to cup her bare bottom and lift her. She let her legs drape over his hip bones as her arms found his neck. Using the leverage, she pressed herself against the hardness of him. The only fabric between them now was the thin fabric of his breeches and it didn't even feel like there was that with the wetness between her legs.

"Oh, little bird…" He turned them around and sat back on the bed, her knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips as she straddled him. Her fingers did not tremble when she untied the knot of her dressing gown to let it slip off her shoulders. His lips were there in a moment to find the smooth expanse of freckles on her shoulder. But they did not stay there for long. He rolled the nipple between his fingers before he put his mouth on her, his hand cupping her breast to his mouth. Sansa felt herself gasping, but he did not stop. One hand held her bottom, the other pressed her breast into his mouth. He did not speak of the burns that marred her breasts, nor any of the other scars. Instead, he devoured her as though he was getting drunk on her. She realized that she was getting drunk off of him, as though she had drank a whole bottle of wine herself.

Sansa's breath came in gasps as his lips made her already hardened nipples begin to ache. She felt the wetness between her legs grow and she knew he felt it. He tugged her hips closer to him with a chuckle. His mouth moved to her other breast while his hand stayed on the aching one. She couldn't help it when her hips thrust against his.

Her gown had crumpled down to her stomach when he stopped. He looked at her like no knight ever would, as though she was an altar at which to worship. That her imperfect, marred body was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

She looked into his face as he took her body in. She kissed the burned side of his face ever so gently. Sandor started as her lips touched the sensitive skin, but his body relaxed as she trailed kisses across his jawbone and down to his adam's apple.

The hand that gripped her breast moved down slowly, between her skin and the fabric of her slip, to find the wetness between her legs. She tensed as his fingers touched her. "It's alright, little bird." He gazed into her eyes, "You tell me if it's okay." She nodded. His fingers were long and blunt to look at, but he moved them carefully, softly stroking the dampness until she found her mouth opening. He smiled. His thumb found the little nub down there and rubbed her slowly at first. Heat shot up her spine, and she arched her breasts into him. Her legs opened wider, an invitation. His hands became more urgent, and she buried her face into his neck. His fingers found their way inside her.

It hurt a little, but he moved his fingers deftly, still stroking her nub. She was amazed to find her body moving with his hand, urging him deeper... urging him more… Sansa felt her breath shorten, hitching in her chest as if she had run miles. Her nails dug into his skin as she moaned, getting closer to that intangible feeling she had been chasing.

"More." Her voice was weak when she said it, but he obeyed immediately. Stars blazed up behind her eyelids and burned out almost instantly; her muscles tightened around his fingers in an exquisite kind of pleasure. She couldn't help the little moaning sounds that come out of her lips, so she buried her mouth into his shoulder to silence them. The heat inside her built into an inferno, and the pleasure rose until it was almost pain. She bit hard into his shoulder, barely stifling the scream as her hips slowed against his hand.

Sansa panted against him as he removed his fingers from the warmth inside of her, and she missed them already. She was breathless against him, her limbs heavy as he spoke.

"Now that's a song I've wanted to hear for a long time, little bird." Sansa noticed the bite mark on his shoulder already starting to bruise, but he didn't seem to notice. He got her to her feet, and it took her a moment to make sure her weak-kneed legs wouldn't fail her. His hands were firm on her waist as he pushed her slip down past her hips, sliding it off to pool on the floor. He took a few steps back without ever taking his hands off her, regarding her standing naked before him.

A kind of admiration and a definite want spread over his face. Sansa moved to cover herself, but his hands stopped her. Even after the intimacy of before, she had a hard time meeting his eyes for a few minutes. But when she finally did, she saw that his eyes stared at the thatch of red hair between her legs. She blushed, even though she hated it, but she reached forward with unsteady hands to find his laces.

He stood there as in disbelief as she unlaced his breeches and pushed them off of his hips, exposing him. Her fine, long fingers did look small when she took him into her hand. He moved against her palm as she took in the sight of him, not afraid to look at all of him.

"Sansa." His voice was husky as one hand wound in her hair. His hands went to her hips and stopped. "You'll tell me if I hurt you? You'll tell me to stop?"

"Yes," she answered. The last of his restraint was gone as he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, his body looming over her as he pushed her legs open. Her breath came quick as he pressed his body flat against her, but made no move yet to enter her. His lips were hot on hers, his elbow keeping most of his weight off of her. Her arms pressed into his back. Her fingers dug into his skin as he rubbed against her. She moaned at the friction against her skin. Sansa's knees came up by his hips. He kissed her harder, more urgently. All she felt was heat as she pressed her body up into his. His hand moved between them, guiding himself to her.

Sansa felt the pressure of him there and kissed him harder, encouraging him. His hand twined in her hair as he pressed deeper and moved slowly - too slowly. She arched up into him, drawing him in. He broke from her lips and buried his face in her neck, whispering something she couldn't quite catch. Sandor moved a little faster against her. She found herself rising to meet him, and each time he went deeper, she moaned. He asked her if she was alright - and she locked her legs around his hips.

"Fuck," he said as he rocked against her. That same feeling flooded back to her as she pushed up into him. Her body tightened around him, and she dug her nails deep into his back, holding back the feeling building in her. Sandor moved against her more feverishly, his hand turning her face to his. Then her tongue found his mouth and she arched up into him. Behind her eyes, the world was color, bright and blinding, heat soaring through her skin. Her muscles contracted. That pleasant feeling returned hitting her hard, taking away her breath as her mind went blank and her muscles seized around where they were joined.

Her own body slowed, but his sped up. Sansa felt him holding back against her; she pulled him to her tighter until she felt him unleash himself. His body rocked hers until she felt the warmth of him spilling inside her.

He panted when he finally slowed against her. His forehead pressed against hers, and she stopped him before he asked. "You didn't hurt me, Sandor. I'm fine." Her hand stroked the burned side of his face gently as she smiled up at him.

Sandor pulled his weight off of her and she rolled to him. He was smiling as he wrapped his arm around her. "You're a tough little bird, and a loud one, if you didn't keep covering your mouth. I'd like to get you alone with no one around for miles, to see how hard I could make you scream, if tonight was enough to get you loud."

She blushed and ducked her head against him. His fingers traced the smooth curve of her hip. For a moment she thought of something to say, but her body felt warm and heavy. As he pulled the furs up around them, she slipped away into a dreamless sleep in the safety of his arms.

* * *

His lips were warm on hers and she opened them without even waking up entirely, her body seeking out the warmth of him on a more primitive level. Sansa didn't bother to open her eyes as he rolled on top of her, his knee nudging her legs apart until she let them fall open in invitation.

Sandor guided himself into her, but her muscles, unused to this kind of activity, protested a little at first. With each stroke he took, her body accepted him back in welcome. His hands were on either side of her, supporting his bulk. When she opened her eyes, she could see the way he had looked at her when she could not see him.

Something in her rose to the occasion and pressed back each time he pushed harder into her. Stars popped beneath her eyelids as she arched up into him. With a final satisfying moan, he spilled himself inside of her.

Sandor rolled off of her, panting, and she found herself just as breathless as he pulled the warm furs up over them again. She rolled to him, enjoying the sound of his breathing. She had never laid in bed with a man like this before, not with one she did not fear. Others might fear Sandor, but she hadn't for a long time.

Her fingers traced a scar on his chest, rubbing the ridge of it in thought. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders as she leaned up on her elbow.

"What's the matter, little bird?"

She shook her head, unsure of how to express the emotions inside of her.

"No lies, little bird. Not between us." He tilted her chin up to look at him.

Sansa felt foolish asking, but she had no one to compare him to. There was no room in her mind - or in this bed - for any more thoughts of Ramsay. "Did I please you?"

Sandor laughed, and Sansa didn't know what to make of it. "Did you please me? Couldn't you tell the first time? Or this time? My cock's already hard for you again, Sansa. I could bury myself in you until I died and still not get enough."

Sansa blushed furiously, but her heart gave a lurch when he confirmed what she'd hoped - she had pleased him.

"No one has ever taken care of you, little bird." He pulled her closer to him, kissing her shoulder. "I don't suppose you would know." He pulled away from her and sat up in bed. For a moment she thought he was going to leave, and it would be more than she could bear. But instead, he threw back the furs and exposed her naked body. She didn't try to cover herself as he straddled her.

He leaned down, and Sansa gasped as his lips sucked her skin until both her nipples were hard, and her heart beat its wings like a bird in a cage. He kissed her stomach, even the scars from the cuts Ramsay had bestowed on her. His lips traveled further down, until she realized his legs were half hanging off the bed. She had started to sit up and ask him what he was doing when he pushed her back down, covering her mouth with one of his hands.

She struggled against his hand on her mouth until she felt his breath on the inside of her thigh. He buried his head between her legs and his tongue danced inside her. She arched her back and clung to his hand over her mouth like a lifeline, trying to stifle the sounds that rose in her throat.

His tongue explored her, sucked on the little nub and moved back to the depths of her. One of her hands trailed down to his hair, urging him on. She felt a throaty laugh against her skin, and she moaned half in pleasure, half in irritation. This time, her hand was more insistent on his head, directing him, making him know that she wanted him faster.

Her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest. Her back arched as she reached that peak of ecstasy again. Her body felt weightless and dreamy as he started to move up the bed beside her.

"See, little bird? I don't have to ask if I pleased you one bit."

Her heart sank a little with the coming dawn. She had so many things she wanted to say as he got up and found his discarded breeches. How she felt about him. How she meant for this night to be a beginning. The words wouldn't come to her tongue. Instead, she watched him dress in silence. All the courage that she'd built up to talk to him had suddenly vanished.

"Sansa." He came back to the bed and leaned over her. "I told you, I'm no knight. I'm a dog, a Hound. Loyal only to you." His lips touched hers gently. "I'll be here to keep you warm as long as you let me in your bed, little bird." He turned to leave when she grabbed his hand and pulled him to kiss her once more.

"Come back," she whispered against his lips. Then he was gone. How he made it out and past the others in nothing but his breeches and sword, she didn't know.

But then again, the sight of the Hound with a sword would silence most people.


End file.
